Wanted

“Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheat’ed?”

—Johnny Rotten on “No Fun (excerpts)” from Troublemakers, an anthology album

Author’s brother (left) and author Seattle Center, September 1965

This should be my
second childhood.
I remember
childhood, or I
think I do. Days
shimmered, each one
full of promise:
unbounded time,
more valuable
than gold, silver.
Complaints only 
when I heard THAT
call: "time to come
in"—"time for bed,
young man"—"c'mon
it's time for church".
I still rail, still
complain to The 
Adult, but he 
lives in my head
now. I want to
subcontract my
adulthood so
I can play through-
out my adult
childhood. This role
requires timely
attention to
details of my
life without one
whit of bother
to me...ah, but
then I would need
to hire someone 
to watch that first 
one. Where would it 
end? No, better
to restrain my 
adulthood to
its bare, needful
minimum, let
my child command
ev'rything else.

51/100

Riding currents

To celebrate my 50th poem in 50 days (technically fewer than that), I wrote an electrifying poem.

Riding currents presents
particular demands
first, avoid feedback,
second, don't overload
your established circuits 
which crave more input
than they can handle
third, befriend surge 
suppressors but make
sure they know their
threshold for cutting in,
fourth, remember those
legacy circuits which
support your healthy
function, even if they've
become touchy, in need
of constant maintenance.

Keep in mind voltage
may vary. Assure your
optimum performance
by under-promising
this circuit's potential.

50/100

HALFWAY THERE! YIPPEE!!

Penultimacy

This poem would have been way cooler posted on August 18th when it meant more. I drafted it near midnight, and couldn’t bring myself to polish it, find a photo, etc, until today.

Penultimate:
bridesmaid 
celebrated faintly.
Always announcing
never announced. 
John the Baptist to
Jesus the Messiah. 
Loved by writers
For its erudition. 
Why this focus on 
opening act before
The Headliner? Who
decided this needed
a word? Why mark
the race's last mile? 

Today we trot you out
to perform yet again
your ultimate function: 
forty-ninth of fifty, 
thus almost halfway. 
Thank you, you're done.

49/100

No poem today

I feel bad because I’m breaking the chain for real today. I had planned to write a poem as we flew eastward, but I chose to finish Hamnet instead… and sleep. Then I thought, “I’ll dash it off at home.” We walked into a house without air-conditioning! 😲😰 It was 60 degF as we walked to the Seattle airport. We dropped into 85 degrees with over 70% humidity here in Raleigh, NC… And the house was the same.

I love the East especially the southeast of North Carolina where we landed, but I was raised in Eastern Washington where hot days didn’t carry that humidity and were balanced by cool nights. This was reinforced by our recent visit there. (Of course all the smoke from fires and the dry, dessicated grasses reminded me why I like the East. )

I will get drafting right now!

Technology bites

Technological threads
wrap tightly. Despite
rich promises, every
third trial brings
misery, frustration,
anger, despair.
How can society's
linchpin fail so
often, so wrongly,
so spectacularly?
Flip switches, lights
light. Turn keys, car
starts. Water plants,
they grow. Turn on
computers, hold your
breath 'til sure no
obstinate refusal
to load one simple
operating system
occurs, no twirling 
apple-logo twirls
indefinitely, no
screen fails to light.
Progress? Or have
we simply traded
one stubborn mule
for another?

48/100

Goal

A bit trite and a bit short, but this will have to do today. An Irish stout has designs on my mind!

Adrift, but found
my course plotted
without my ken,
without approval.
Yet when my course
pointed me to
where I'm now,
I found this port,
suited me just fine.

47/100

Mental vacation

In another poem I’ll try to convey this weird feeling I have that a pretty decent vacation isn’t going that well. This moodiness infects me on quite a few vacations, and I joyfully welcome all the times I just seem to go with the flow and have a great time, despite inevitable setbacks. It seems enjoying yourself takes precedent to enjoying the vacation. Today, I’m just trying to capture today.

Gray whale tail off Yaquina Head, north of Newport, OR. August 2026.

Another paradisiacal day

surrounded by memories,
good, bad, indifferent.
golf, tantalizing money suck; 
couldn't do it now anyway.
constant gray weather
wearing her down,
then wearing me down.
whales! no, just rocks. 
but birds: familiar,
strange, tiny, grand.
trip's end trips up more
often than not. "What
do you want to do?"
"I dunno. What do you?"
Bumper-to-bumper others
live out their dream while
we duck into breweries.
No dinner plans almost
equals no dinner. "What
should we do tomorrow?"

46/100

Everyone has a plan…

I wasn’t going to publish this, but I have nothing else to post.

“Come,” they say, “let us get wine, let us fill ourselves of strong drink; and tomorrow will be like this day, great beyond measure.”

—Isaiah 56:12

Everybody has plans until they get hit for the first time.

—Mike Tyson’s original quote, 1987

I didn't have plans,
assumed life just carried on
unchanging at its core. Her

"I
         want
                         out"

paralyzed me, uprooted
me from where I'd planted
myself: in challenging soil,
yet gamely trying. She saw
it similarly, acted where I
could not: shook my dust
from her sandals, moved on. 

A younger she healed me or
I healed myself while 
healing her, perhaps,
unable to address what
drove her to like me at all.
"Rapacious" said those
gossips around me.
"You lucky bastard" 
from some friends.

We parted semi-friends
permitting my truer healing
with my truer partner, this
time with eyes open, no
longer encumbered by
thinking tomorrow mimics 
today. No longer presuming
it will last. No longer secure:
I take nothing for granted,
stay present today instead of
presuming tomorrow.

45/100

Old

Man, I hurt. My accident of three weeks ago has left me two stiff knees, broken bones in both forearms, assorted pain I think is more broken bones in my hands and wrists, and perhaps a strained tendon in the ankle which rolled. My shoulder hurts from what I suspect is bursitis, and if I told you how it occurred doing nothing you would shake your head. The minor but ever-present ache in my right hip seems almost superfluous at this point. All of this inspired this poem.

New pains attack daily.
Old ones settle in like
fringe relatives who won't leave.
Memories don't fail, they
crowd each other out.
Challenges also pile up,
sapping desire to grapple
'yet again' with those never-
ending tasks which repeat. 

But....

Small moments harbor
poignancy unfelt in youthful
years. Sunsets seem 
more magical, plants
more interesting. Good meals
sustain constant pleasure.
Music, books span decades!
Undoable projects, now doable.
Time? Alternately your
friend, your enemy.

44/100

Poem #43

It’s…a poem. Conceived while driving 35mph around turns, barely speeding up on a short straightaway, then braking for the next set of chicanery.

Rumble Strip

Rumble, grumble, rumble strip.
Tell me I've transgressed.
Painted lines define my limits
but frankly, I protest.
Sometimes you hide between 
those lines, sometimes you
sit right on them.
We won't discuss your shoulder twin
who keeps me on all roads.
On this mountain highway, 
full of twists, of turns,
it's not too likely I'll nod off,
bored, but still you're stern.
Worse than my car's lane-keeping
notes, which shrilly scold just me, 
you warn each transgressing car
so non-discriminately.
I'll mention briefly how you blind
when rain sits in your grooves:
when puddles bounce bright sunshine
into my eyes--so rude.
In short, your presence seems
quite useless on this twisting mountain road.
Why don't you haunt our cities,
and quit this useless scold.

43/100